


damsel causing distress

by foundCarcosa



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2533055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Might be a little far-fetched, but who wouldn't want to see Leandra come out on top instead of becoming Frankenbride?</p>
            </blockquote>





	damsel causing distress

Thrask was gentlemanly, she’d give him that. He reminded her of what it was like to be an Amell, a _true_ Amell, not just someone who’d taken back the name almost as an afterthought, because “Hawk-wife” didn’t apply anymore.

And his attentions had given her precious firstborn a reason to relax, just a bit — Elijah was dutiful and protective to a fault, and though she appreciated his vigilance, she needed him to remember that she’d not remained alive this long by sheer luck.  
But Malcolm had been much the same. She couldn’t blame the apple for not falling far from the tree.

But Thrask hadn’t sent the flowers she held in her hand, the pristine white lilies bundled together with red ribbon. Thrask was working, as he should have been — they didn’t get much time together, considering templars weren’t even given leave to court.  
She truly was attracted to rebels, wasn’t she. Her mother had been right, after all.

 _Meet me in Lowtown,_ the attached note said, as if she would truly believe that her secret suitor would ask such a thing of her.

But it was a nice spring day. She’d make the trip, and lay eyes upon this secret admirer of hers. Why not?

—

She didn’t fight when the man clapped the stinking rag over her mouth and dragged her into the shadows. Instead, she watched — the bazaar’s bustle gave way to the smog of the foundries, and her shoe had come off, her bare foot dragging on the stones and leaving a trail of blood spatters.

She didn’t think her assailant would get far with his plans for her, but it was always good to have a backup plan. Elijah was a fair tracker, after all.

"I’ve been waiting for you for so long," the mage whispered, hot breath in her ear. The rag was soaked with something that made her woozy, made her muscles relax, but she clung to consciousness with talons and teeth. Malcolm had taught her many things. _The mind is stronger than we think, my love, and so is our instinct to survive._

She collapsed on the table when she was led to it, her eyelids fluttering. But in her diminished line of vision, she saw a tray, and the instruments laid out upon it. The instruments he meant to use on her.

She stretched out on the table, her hand closing around a blade.

"I know you’re tired, my love. It’ll all be over soon."  
He turned her over with surprising gentleness, and his eyes widened when her hand flashed upward. Her muscles wailed in protest, relaxing again almost immediately, but the blade was long and he’d been so close.

"You’re not… Mal…" she bit out, closing her hand around the blade so the pain would keep her awake; the mage was cursing a blue streak, his lacerated chest pumping out hot blood in a rush. "And I am… not… _your love.”_


End file.
